Evil is Alive and Well
by pandorathexplora
Summary: What if Castiel had given Sam the seal of approval and let him use his demon blood to the Winchester’s advantage? Backstory: Castiel and Uriel never told Sam to stop his extracurriculars and Dean is now on board with Sam’s abilities. Dark!Sam Limp!Dean


AU: What if Castiel had given Sam the seal of approval and let him use his demon blood to the Winchester's advantage? So for a little backstory, Castiel and Uriel never told Sam to stop his _extracurriculars_ and Dean is now on board with Sam's abilities to stop demons, but there's still potential for Sam going darkside if he's not careful.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

Note: Story title inspired by Jakob Dylan song of the same name.

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**Evil is Alive and Well**

"Well, well, well. What do we have here?" the demon's voice attaches itself to the descending dust within the motel room. After all, dust and debris tend to fall when a door gets violently kicked in, nearly knocking it from its hinges.

Dean walks out of the bathroom, towel draped around his waist with a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He still manages to smirk. Glancing over at his reclining brother on the bed, Dean makes a "kuh" sound and shakes his head in disbelief.

Dean casually finds the words around the toothbrush, "Mmm, d'you mind, Sammy?"

Sam still has the remote in his hand and steals a quick glance at his brother. His eyes dart back to the confused demon standing at the door's edifice, sizing up the creature before him as if he were nothing but a door-to-door salesman. The demon's host is formidable in size. Male. Dark-skinned with tribal tattoos that run along the base of his neck and muscular arms. His wide shoulder rise and fall in the steady powerful rhythm of his breaths. He tightens his fists, awaiting battle. Awaiting the great Winchester's next move.

With a sigh and a roll of his eyes, Sam makes a look to his brother that says _Fine_, but that he wasn't happy. Just another exorcism to mark in the books.

"Great, thanks," Dean said, continuing his calm tone that didn't acknowledge the evil in the room. "Just make it quick, dude. And you," he said gesturing towards the demon, "hold onto your friggin' hat."

The man's black eyes narrow as he watches the older Winchester retire to the bathroom, humming a tune that could only be described as…jolly?

Instantly, the demon's view is blocked by the standing figure of Sam Winchester only a few feet in front of him. Somewhere behind him, the entrance to the motel room slams shut.

The demon doesn't flinch but bares his teeth in a grin. Finally, a worthy opponent.

"Neat trick," the monster patronizes. "Now watch this." Suddenly, a painful howl emanates from the bathroom. Something crashes, a sickening thud hits the bathroom floor and one name flares into Sam's mind.

Dean.

Caught off guard by this sudden show of power, Sam's instantly turns his back to the demon.

"Dean?!" Flashes of Dean hurt in the bathroom, helpless, unconscious or worse…Sam shuts it out as he leaps over the motel bed and fiercely pounds on the bathroom door.

Louder still, "Dean?! What's wrong?!" Somewhere, the demon, momentarily forgotten, chuckles in delight. This is wonderful, he thinks. Never did he think it would be this easy. Crossing his arms, the demon watches as a terrified Sam wreaks havoc on the bathroom door.

Damn, he should've brought popcorn, the demon muses.

Before his eyes, the bathroom door flings outward as if blown out by some unseen wind. The demon watches as the young hunter steps aside just moments before its quick dispatch and races into the bathroom as if this is the way doors are always opened.

The demon raises an eyebrow. Impressive. He hadn't known the boy could wield so much raw power.

No matter. Just added to the thrill of the challenge, he figures.

"Dean, talk to me," the demon hears the panic in the boy's voice. Inside the bathroom, Sam kneels besides his brother's limp body. Pressing an ear to Dean's chest, Sam hears a slow, weak heartbeat that signals his life hanging in the balance.

"Shit, shit…" Sam feels his own heartbeat quickening as he tries to figure out how to help his brother. A dark, purple bruise seems to be forming on his chest near his heart. Sam's eyes grow wide in fear.

"Oh god," Sam stares at the forming contusion in horror, his mind racing as he brings his hands up from Dean's face and combs his fingers through his own hair in a look of desperation.

"Oh Saaaaaam," a twisted voice calls from inside the bedroom. "Sammy, boy, what's the matter?" the man with the tribal tattoos, vile eyes, and sickening agenda had now found himself in a comfortable position seated on the edge of the motel bed.

Sam looks up from where his brother lay to the voice's source. Part of Sam refused to move, refused to leave his brother alone.

But part of him wanted the demon's head on a bloody stick.

Sam stands up and embraces the only possibility left for helping his brother. Grasping the tenuous fibers of energy that had once lay dormant inside him, Sam pushes himself up and shoots out of the bathroom ready for more than a routine exorcism. No, this would be something special. The dozens of demons who had become a daily occurrence for the Winchesters, determined to battle it out to test themselves against the boy king, they had all followed one rule.

Nobody touches Dean.

Somehow, each demon had known that if they even had a chance of defeating the prophesied king to take their place as the rightful leader of the armies, they would have to avoid hurting the older human. They didn't want to test their luck and up until today, nobody ever did. Now, the monster that was perched so casually upon the motel bed waited to see his reaction.

"You're mine, Winchester," the demon hisses, locking his hands behind his head. He sits, amused as Sam stands before him. "Not intimidiating at all," he comments. "Just…a boy," and with that his face peels into closed smile that belongs on something less fierce. He stands slowly, reinstituting a standoff that he and the boy had tried only moments before. Now, however, things weren't as predictable.

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"Shut the hell up," Sam mumbled, his head hanging low, tears in his eyes as a bloody portrait of Dean, bruised and dying on the bathroom floor, burned into his mind. Shaking his head from side to side, the nightmare played on, forcing Sam to relive the trauma of Dean's dying moments in front of feral hounds as he stood there - powerless.

"What's that?" the demon raised a hand to his ear. Oh, the pain he was causing Sam, he could nearly taste it. "What did you say, oh great Winchester?"

"I said --" something shook. The demon's eyes darted to its source. A lamp fidgeted on the bed stand beside him. The lightbulb popped, leaving the entire room in darkness, save the bathroom light that spilled out from the bathroom behind Sam. The result left a beautifully threatening silhouette around the young Winchester.

"Oh, I couldn't have pictured this better myself," the demon interrupted. This boy just kept getting better and better.

"I said, _Shut up_!" the roar that erupted from Sam Winchester's mouth caught the demon unaware. He was about to respond, when to his surprise, no air escaped his lungs.

_What was this? _The monster thought to himself. This was a new one.

While questions and last-minute regrets filled the monster's head, he had the strangest sensation around his host's mouth. One minute he was breathing heavily, jaw open wide, a wolf-like predator, now tiny droplets of sweat formed on his brow when he realized a new sort of pain.

All around the demon's lips, tiny pinpricks of blood formed and from out of the air itself, black sticky fibers that looked like thick strands of thread flew towards the openings. The demon fell backwards to get away from these darts approaching his face, but no amount of running could escape it. The fibers eventually found their target and, like snakes, thread themselves into the holes around his lips, sewing them shut despite his wrenching efforts.

The demon thrashed its head from side to side, his hands instinctively rising up to tear at the foreign objects that had sealed his mouth shut. The clawing proved futile as it only bloodied his cheeks and lips, while strengthening the strings' hold on him.

In terror, the demon looked up to see Sam Winchester, still standing in the same position, watching him struggle through narrowed eyes, but showing no signs of pain or effort himself.

Was he not even trying? The demon fell to his knees, still reeling in pain. Could the stories have been true? However, if Sam was so powerful, why hadn't he been dispersed yet? Why was he still in this meatsuit?

"You think I'm going to send you to Hell?" Sam kept his words as clear as possible, menacing in their steadiness. "You forget," he continued while taking two long steps forward to loom over the shivering beast before him. "I have more than Azazel's blood and that," bending down so that the message was clear, "has its _advantages_."

"Now, _release my brother_," Sam commanded, yet the words couldn't have come out of him. Instead, the command came from everywhere at once, dug their talons into the demon's every thought and became a part of some waking nightmare.

The demon shot one hand up in a last ditch effort to resist Sam's hold on him. He released a wave of energy towards the towering hunter, a firing that normally would have felt like searing daggers through a man's body.

The expense of power only made Sam increasingly furious, however, as the light from the blast did the impossible, slowing midway and dissipating into a million particles that gravitated and, finally, were absorbed into Sam's outstretched palms. "You don't GET it, do you?!" Sam shouted. He closed his eyes in frustration, ignoring the adrenaline rush from absorbing the demon's power.

"I've gone up against hundreds of your brothers and each time, _each one of them_," he stammered from the emotion building up around the next few words, "they knew Dean was off limits if they _thought_ they could even stand a chance."

The demon was on all fours now, pointy tail figuratively between his legs, as he listened to the awful truth coming from his opponent. He knew he was defeated, but with his mouth clasped shut, he couldn't escape his host's body. He slowly raised his head, black eyes pleading into Sam's hardened stare, a dog awaiting punishment from his master.

"So you _fix_ whatever you did to my brother," Sam ordered, "or you'll be begging me to send you to hell after what I can and WILL do to you inside that lumpy mass of flesh you hide in like the little chicken shit you are."

The demon quaked at this sudden revelation that this seemingly weak boy could string together so firmly without so much as a stutter or hesitation. He had heard that Sam would never hurt a human host for one reason…it was human. Sam Winchester was one of the "good" guys, after all. But he had just hurt his host's face. And now he threatened to do more than that? How could he torture a demon without hurting the host itself? None of this made sense. He couldn't. He wouldn't.

As if reading his thoughts, Sam answered his question.

"Watch me." Sam brought a single hand up and closed his eyes. No onslaught of migraines came. Instead, Sam shivered as the energy coiled around him, invigorating him as he formed it to his will.

Instantly, the demon felt its very essence writhe from within the fleshy body. While his host's skin and organs remained perfectly untouched, the darkness inside him convulsed and quivered, the pain reflected in the shimmering onyx eyes that bled out parts of the demon's essence itself - drop by sickening, black drop.

Each black tear carved a path down its host's cheek, sizzled, and bore a permanent hole in the motel carpet where it fell. Sam Winchester was capable of not only exorcising, but actually _destroying_ the soul, piece by piece, as well.

Crouching on his hind legs, Sam made sure he was at the demon's eye level. He clutched his adversary's face in his hands, and he wiped away its scorching hot tears with his thumb, his own skin unscathed. Sam stared deep into the demon's eyes, as if searching in each one for something. He never blinked and the demon saw Sam furrow his brow in concern.

"So, I'll tell you one last time. Fix Dean or…" The demon didn't hear the rest. He was entranced by the hunter's gaze. Suddenly, the pain was gone and the demon was filled with an overwhelming relief, a desire – an undying devotion to a new master. Through both pain and pleasure, Sam had executed a power that the demon had known only once before. Only once before had he felt equal fear and awe, torment and rapture, pain and pleasure. That look. It was so powerful. Sublime. _Angelic_. He had witnessed it only once from…

Sam heard a loud gasp come from behind him. Sam's threw his attention behind him and instantly brought his gaze back to the cowering demon.

"_Stay_," Sam ordered to the human shape beneath him.

Sam shot up and ran towards the bathroom to kneel once again beside the injured form of his brother.

"Dean? Are you alright?" Sam asked, gently tapping his brother's face to awaken him. His stomach fell when Dean didn't immediately respond, but quickly rose again when Dean's lips parted slowly.

"S-Sam?"

Sam coughed out a sound of relief.

"Dean!"

"Dude," Dean licked his lips, mouth dry as if he'd slept for three days. "Wh-what happened?" He rubbed at the sore spot above his heart, and weakly brought his head up to observe the damage. He soon saw the purple mark and, even worse, realized he was naked except for a towel.

"DUDE!" Dean cried out with renewed energy, shooting up into a seated position. "Can you give me some space here? And where the hell are my clothes?!"

Sam threw his head back, tears forming in his eyes from hearing the familiar "tough-guy" speak that his brother maintained even after a near-death experience.

Not sure how else to put it, Sam responded, "You were coming out of the shower, remember? A demon attacked you and…I uhhhh," Sam stopped to innocently rub the back of his own head.

"You what, Sam?"

"I…uhh…stopped him?" Sam threw his hands in the air as if questioning his own statement.

A sudden realization of what must have gone down a few moments ago dawned on Dean. Both eyebrows went up in immediate understanding. "Ohhh, right. Gotcha."

"What?" Sam asked.

"You doin' the freaky psychic boy stuff again, huh?"

Sam smiled nervously, unsure of what to say. Dean had recently come to understand that exorcising demons was now so much easier for the two of them with Sam's "gifts." But that didn't make it any easier to talk about.

"Nope, no need to explain. I've come to accept it by now. And you're still here, right? No darkside bullshit or any of that," Dean continued. "So, help me get off this floor, let me throw on a shirt, and we can go celebrate with some beers."

When Sam raised his head, Dean was already on his feet and pushing past Sam to exit the bathroom and grab a shirt. Sam's facial expression quickly changed from relief to sudden panic.

_Shit, the demon_, Sam thought.

He heaved himself up and tore out of the bathroom just in time to see Dean putting on his clothes that lay underneath the wreckage of the door that had mysteriously flown off its hinges.

His back was to the seething demon, whose face still remained bloody, lips tied in a twisted display of ruthless carnage, but who had remained motionless. It was no wonder Dean hadn't seen him.

"Wow, I must have missed some fight –" Dean began, but his words were cut off just as he turned around to see the feral beast that waited obediently for instruction in the middle of the bedroom floor.

"Dean, wait!" Sam shouted, but it was too late. Dean stood for only a split second before his hunting instincts kicked in at the sight. He didn't hesitate one look at the creature sent him running for the canister of salt and book of exorcisms that were stored in one of the motel's drawers.

"Sam! What the hell! Thought you took care of this!" Dean was already halfway through getting all the supplies needed when Sam realized that no amount of explaining was going to calm his brother down. He gave up and finally stopped Dean by embracing him and pinning him against the wall.

"---control him" is all Dean could hear coming from Sam's mouth.

"What?!" a once frantic Dean said, now aware that his brother had been shouting at him the whole time.

"I said I can control him!" Sam said, holding his brother in his grip, staring him down and searching for some sign of understanding in Dean's eyes. In an unspoken exchange, Dean questioned Sam to see if he had understood correctly, to which Sam responded with a slow nod that confirmed Dean's fears.

Sam felt Dean's body physically relax, and he loosened his hold.

"Get'f…." Dean mumbled.

"What?" Sam asked.

"I said _Get off me_!" Dean shouted, wrenching himself free from his brother's enclosure, simultaneously pushing himself off the wall to get a better view of the situation.

Locking his hands and resting them on top of his head, Dean breathed in and, drawing his hands down the front of his face, blew out all the chaos and revelations of the night.

"You mean to tell me," Dean inched closer to the demon, pointing straight at his head, "that THAT thing is under your control right now?"

Sam's looked his brother straight in the eye and he took in a deep breath.

"Yes."

"Jesus, Sammy!"

"What? Something went off Dean, I--"

Dean sidestepped closer to the monster who, at this moment, was having identity issues and thought itself less a demon a more a golden retriever. It was on further observation that Dean noticed the bloodied face and atrocity around its mouth.

"And what the hell is that?!" Dean asked, ignoring anything his little brother said, pointing to its face.

"I…um…" Sam started, not sure how to respond.

"You know what? Forget it," Dean threw his hands up in a gesture of defeat. "For the past few weeks, every demon and their mom's been coming after you. I said, Sure, why not. You've got this," and he raised his fingers up to make air quotes, "this _jedi_ stuff going for you, it can't be so bad. I mean, it's not like you're going to _become_ one of them, right?"

Sam flinched at Dean's verbal attack, the sarcasm piercing him like knives. Dean had always harbored this fear of Sam's dark destiny, as did Sam, but it was never spoken so outright.

"Dean, but I –"

"No buts, Sam. This is dangerous! We both know you're playing with fire and after _this_?" Dean's gaze locks on with the demon's zombie-like, upturned expression.

"Now you tell me you can control a demon and, oh here's the friggin' cherry on top, the host's face looks like it belongs on the cover of _Hellraiser!"_

Dean's voice was reaching the low baritone that came in his darkest moments. He paced the room, as if somehow in the strides he could pick up some new direction away from where this conversation was headed.

"Dean, I had to," Sam pleaded. An immediate feeling of shame and guilt washed over Sam. And soon, doubt. _Did he really? Did he really need to take it so far?_

"Let me ask you this," Dean interrupted his thoughts, stopping his pacing. "When I was passed out like freakin' Rip Van Winkle over there, did it ever occur to you once, just _once_, to go at this thing the old fashioned way?"

Sam took a step back in shock. From what he recalled, Dean practically told him to exorcize the damn thing with his abilities.

"Dean, no, you told me –"

"Forget what I told you!" Dean tossed the tough-guy persona aside. "I'm scared for you, man," he admitted, biting his lip at the confession. Fear had always been a sign of weakness for hunters, but when his brother was the source, Dean didn't pay attention to the rules ingrained in him.

"Ever since you've gone full-on Obi-won with this shit, you've changed."

Sam was speechless as Dean continued.

"It's getting easier for you. Too easy. Your moods are changing. Your eating habits are changing. Hell, even your body is changing!" It was true, Sam had been eating less, talking less, and even physically fighting less. Yet somehow, he was no longer the scrawny little Sammy he once was, growing inhumanly stronger with each hunt that involved his abilities.

"Something tells me this isn't right, just isn't right," Dean said more to himself than to Sam.

"And now let me ask you this," Dean grabbed a bottle of water that lay on the bedstand. Sam could barely see him with only the bathroom light to illuminate the room as Dean receded into the darkest corner. But Sam could feel his brother fight back tears as he took a large gulp of water to calm his nerves and ask the question that had been hovering like storm clouds from the beginning.

"Did you like it?"

Sam took a step back. He shook his head and his eyes fell to the cowering creature that redefined a captive audience for the past few minutes.

"What?" was all that stumbled out through Sam's lips.

"You heard me," Dean replied, coldly. "Did. You. Like it," the last two words sounding more like a command than a question.

A thousand questions spun through Sam's head, making him dizzy as he finally was forced to confront the thing that had been at the base of his mind for the past few weeks. It was a question that stung like thorns around his head, digging deeper each time he suffocated another demon through sheer will, watched them scream for mercy as the last bit of their life was drained out and cast into the fires of the damned. Digging deeper still when he stopped vicious werewolves and vampires with his mind alone.

And finally digging past everything else, piercing the synapses that sent signals to his heart, alarming him to the immorality of the easy path when true redemption, as all things in life, come only with the Struggle.

At last, Sam had an answer to Dean's question, which had been his own all along.

_Did he like it?_

He didn't need to say it aloud.

Dean understood the response in his brother's silence and snatched his leather jacket that hung loosely upon a chair.

"Where are you going?" Sam asked, not expecting an answer.

"Out."

Sam simply watched as his brother stormed out of the motel room, into the Impala, and sped off into the neon-lit distance without so much as a look back at his brother that still stood beside a door that struggled to stay on its last hinge.

Sam clenched his fists to the point that he drew blood, unsure of where to go now. Taking a deep breath, he crossed the threshold into motel room, into the black expanse of a ruin he created, looming above a creature that still hadn't moved.

Bringing his gaze down to the shivering body beneath him, Sam cocked his head to the side and smiled.

The motel door slammed shut one final time.


End file.
